In Your Arms
by KiwiDayDreams
Summary: Hawke is in love with Anders but is so shy she can barely speak a word when he's in the room. To help cope, she visits him in the guise of a cat who he befriends and confides in. Now all Hawke has to do is make sure he doesn't find out her secret!
1. Mischief

Sometimes Hawke just wished she was a cat. It would have made things ever so much easier.

She'd watched how he acted with strays in Darktown before, how his features became ever gentler, how sweetly he would pet them and talk to them in a soft, tender tones. More than once it had caused her heartache just wondering how it might feel to have those same fingers just lightly brush the hair across her cheek, to have him look at her with the same adoration.

_You are terribly pathetic, you realize,_Hawke told herself as she sat on the rickety steps just outside of Anders' clinic. She couldn't even manage to walk through the door before her legs went all wobbly beneath her and forced her to abandon the visit. For the past half hour she had done nothing but sit and mope at how painfully bashful she was around Kirkwall's healer.

Oh, but she'd been a loss from the beginning, barely able to even look him in the eye after he'd called her beautiful. And when he'd teased that she must have made a deal with some demons to be so wonderful she'd just rambled about how she'd never do such a thing and, no, no, never, that would be terrible. That had earned her an expression that made her just want to die on the spot. Why couldn't she just be as smooth as Isabela and come up with some witty and sensuous response?

She felt like an idiot in how she always babbled and left in a hurry whenever he showed up at the Hanged Man, or purposefully avoided eye contact with him on missions. She didn't suppose this could be making him feel very welcome but, Maker, if he only knew what he was doing to her!

That little hopeful smile he'd given her, as if he were afraid she'd rebuke him for complimenting her...

"Hawke?"

Hawke felt her body shoot up so fast she about tumbled off the steps as she whirled around when Anders said her name. He was standing in the doorway of the clinic, the lantern is his hand. He had come to retrieve it for the night as the oil burned low. Hawke fumbled with her hands a moment, eyes finding anything to look at but him at first. When she finally made eye contact, he smiled.

_Oh, Andraste, that smile again..._

"Have you been out here long?"

"What? Oh... Oh, no. I just...was...passing through," she said, ducking her head again and praying that the heat rising in her cheeks would be hidden by the shadows.

"Oh," he replied simply. She could hear something in his voice; disappointment? Maybe she was mistaken. "Well. Ah.. Since you're here, would you like to come in? I can make some tea."

"Mmmf," was the only noise Hawke could muster. The rustle of Ander's boots across the dirt headed towards her made her look up and she clumsily stepped backward, almost missing the step below entirely. Seeing her back away, Anders stopped just a foot from the top of the stairs and tilted his head.

"Are you alright?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Mm'fine..," she said, wringing her fingers in her hand so hard it began to hurt. "I... I need to go...G'night." She turned and took the steps in twos and didn't stop running until she was well out of Darktown. When her pace began to slow she clenched her fists and screamed in frustration, startling anyone still wandering the streets.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon when she made it home and headed upstairs, giving Bodahn and her mother polite but brief greetings. The moment she'd entered her room she closed the door and went straight for a specific book on the shelves in the corner.

_Don't you even think about it_, her mind warned her, but her hands were already flying through the pages, desperate to find the spell that she was certain would fix everything...or at the very least make them a great deal more bearable. It would be horribly deceptive of her, but maybe...just maybe...it could help her build up the courage to speak to him for real. She could confess how she wanted nothing more than to be near him.

And then there it was, splayed out before her. She hadn't practiced the spell in ages, so it would take some time to perfect it, but it would be worth it.

"Anders, forgive me," she quietly pleaded, holding the book to her chest. Thoughts of being wrapped warmly in the mage's arms kept her reading through the evening until morning's first light.

* * *

><p>"I do believe you're about to break Fenris' record for perpetual brooding, Blondie," Varric prompted as Anders sat wordlessly at their usual table in the Hanged Man. He threw the dwarf a slightly disgruntled look at the remark. "But, really, anything we can help with?"<p>

Anders shrugged up his shoulders and leaned back into the chair, resting his hands on his knees. "I don't think so."

"Aw, come on now. We're all friends here," Isabela said, sidling up to him with a tankard of ale in one hand as she ruffled his hair with the other. He ducked to the side and smoothed it down the best he could and straightened the tie in the back. As much as he appreciated their concern, Anders wasn't sure that sharing this particular problem was the best idea. As good as their intentions tended to be, he preferred to avoid the meddling, and, oh, would there ever be meddling.

He found himself in a difficult place. It seemed to be something that happened to him a lot these days, unfortunately. Here he had found himself in the company of a lovely, intelligent and selfless mage with whom all he wanted to do was become closer, and he couldn't even speak to her. He tried, but it was as though he repulsed her just by being in the room. When they had first met it hadn't been so bad, but it got increasingly worse. The already sparse words that they had once exchanged became little more than one word responses – if that.

Maybe she had taken his advice and decided that he was much too dangerous to affiliate with. He wouldn't have blamed her if she saw him as a lost cause for her attentions; a one-way road to heartache. He'd told her that himself, in fact. Now, as she avoided him like the Blight, he was sorely regretting having said anything at all.

What troubled him, though, was that she never seemed to judge anyone so harshly. He wasn't the only one of them that had done something questionable in their lives. Merrill was a blood-mage, Isabela's morals were a bit skewed at times, and Fenris was a mage-hater who had downright murdered hundreds at the whim of his former master. Still, she welcomed them all in with open arms – why was he so different?

"Good to see you could make it, Daisy!" He heard Varric call out across the bar. Turning in his chair and seeing Merrill, he had an idea. Rising from the table he intercepted the elf on her path to join the others.

"Merrill, can I speak to you a moment?" he asked quietly. Merrill tilted her head and regarded him with her large, innocent looking eyes. It reminded him vaguely of the kittens he often saw in Darktown.

"Certainly." Anders immediately appreciated that Merrill was so willing to be helpful. It was just too bad that she took all the wrong routes to do it most of the time.

"You speak to Hawke a lot, right?"

"Oh, yes. All the time," she smiled and he couldn't help but envy her a little bit.

"Has she... Has she said anything about me?" Merrill's brows raised at the question, but thankfully she didn't pry as some of the others might have.

"Oh, she's said a great deal."

"Really?" He felt his stomach twist anxiously. "Like what?"

"Lots of things. It would take me quite some time to remember it all."

"Well, what was the last thing she said?"

"Oh, um... 'He's so sad all the time. We should get him a new cat'...or was it a hat? I'm not sure. I think you'd look delightful in a hat. A nice, jaunty one with a feather in it, I think," she added, folding her hands in front of herself. Anders wondered if his sanity had left him entirely when he actually considered that for a moment.

"But she's not mad at me?"

"No, I don't think so? Why? Have you done something?"

"I don't think so... She just keeps avoiding me and I don't know why."

"Perhaps she's just feeling shy," Merrill offered. Anders stared at the elf before him a moment until he saw her eyes dart past him. Glancing to see what had caught her eye, he noticed Hawke had entered the Hanged Man and proceeded straight past them and slumped into a chair at the table.

"Ooo. Someone's had a rough night. Who was the lucky man?" Isabela asked.

"I was just reading...," Hawke sighed, rubbing her eyes as half the sentence came out in a yawn.

"Anything good?" Varric asked, interest piqued.

"Just studying up on my magic," Hawke replied and offered him a tired smile. "Sorry I'm not more interesting."

"No worries," Varric chuckled. "I can make anything interesting."

Anders hadn't noticed that Merrill had slipped by him until she went to sit by Hawke at the table. He'd been far too distracted by the ease with which the woman of his dreams conversed with everyone else, and how she didn't seem to mind at all that her friends gathered so close. He vaguely heard her speaking of studying magic and wanted so much to offer to study with her or tutor her should she be studying in a field he knew. At this point, however, he was too afraid to say or do anything lest she fly away like a frightened bird.

"So, are we still going to the Wounded Coast?" Isabela asked after finishing off the last of her ale. "I'm in the mood for plundering."

"First thing tomorrow. If I try to cast anything today I'll probably set my own hair on fire or something," Hawke joked.

"I've seen that happen," Merrill said with a sage nod. "It looked quite painful. I don't recommend it at all."

"I'm sure Blondie would put you right as rain if that happened," Varric added, eyes flickering just briefly to the mage as he stood silently at the bar, looking perfectly and pitifully outcast. On one hand, Anders wanted to strangle the dwarf, but on the other he was curious to know how Hawke might react to mention of him since she hadn't seemed to notice he was there.

"Oh," she hummed, settling further down in her chair. "I'm sure he could. That reminds me, though. I was thinking it might be good to have him along tomorrow. I haven't quite gotten my healing spell down yet... Could one of you stop by his clinic and ask him if he's up to it?"

"He could answer for himself," Fenris said, voice a little scathing as usual. No doubt he thought the mage a coward for skulking in the corner, but Anders didn't particularly care. Fenris had no place to accuse someone of being anti-social or to look at their problems and tell them to 'just get over it'. But Anders' less than stellar opinions of the elf aside, he realized he'd just been pointed out. He watched the back of Hawke's head turn as she glanced about, obviously looking for him. When she finally turned to survey the bar, her eyes instantly locked on him and he did his best not to let the heat rise to his cheeks in embarrassment.

Maybe part of his old self kicked in at that point, or maybe Justice was tired of his host being taken for an idiot, but somehow he managed to look as if he wasn't bothered at all. He walked right over, greeting Hawke with a wave and a smile – just like any of the others might have, just like one of the crew.

"I'll be happy to come if you like," he said and watched as Hawke bowed her head slightly.

"S...Sh...," she said, barely above a whisper. Anders stuffed the feeling of insecurity away as best he could and crouched down by her chair in an attempt to make eye contact without being looming and intimidating. He'd learned with Ser Pounce a Lot that cats often reacted poorly to being towered over, but felt more at ease with someone at their level. Not that...not that Hawke was an animal of course, but...

_**Be silent! I can not stand this incessant rambling!**_

_Sorry, Justice..._

"There's no need to be shy. You can ask me any time. I am always ready to help," he said and gave her the most genuinely helpful expression he could muster.

"Sh...Sh...Shy?" Hawke sputtered. "I am...NOT!" He watched her face go redder than he could ever recall before before she jolted up from her seat and about fell over Merrill in an attempt to vacate the table. She managed to keep her balance enough to not fall face first into the floor before scrambling in a frenzy up the steps to the rooms in the back. Her companions sat in a stupor at the table before they all turned their attention to Anders, who was still crouched, dumbfounded, by Hawke's empty chair.

"I...think I better go check on her," Varric said, breaking the silence and excusing him from the table.

Anders slowly rose to stand, barely containing the pout rising to his lips.

"She hates me," he said under his breath.

* * *

><p>"He hates me," Hawke muffled into her pillow. She couldn't believe how poorly she had treated Anders back at the Hanged Man that afternoon. In all truth, she had begun to hate herself so much she thought it was only logical to believe that he did, too. As if being a an ex-warden apostate mage wasn't bad enough, but his fellow mage wouldn't even speak to him – <em>couldn't<em>even!

The idea that her awkward bashfulness may have led him to believe she didn't like him was the hardest thing to bear. Nothing could have been farther from the truth! In all reality, Hawke had always been rather withdrawn. Back before the Blight had wiped out Lothering, she had taken to shape-shifting often to avoid the crowds and templars alike. No one paid any attention to one more bird or mouse or cat. Lothering had been full of them all and it made it that much easier to blend in.

She had to know. She had to know whether she still had a chance or if it had been the last straw for him. What if he never talked to her again? Even worse...what if he began avoiding her, too?

Any doubt that had been lingering in her mind up to that point was completely smothered by complete certainty. She would do it... She recited the spell over in her mind to make sure she would truly have it under her control. Just this once...she promised herself. Just tonight.

* * *

><p>The clinic had been more quiet than usual that night, or perhaps it wasn't as quiet and lonesome as he felt it was. Anders supposed he should be thankful when his days were slow. It meant that the people of Lowtown were doing well and they didn't need him. Still, he had to admit to himself that it was nice to feel needed, welcome and wanted. If only he could be wanted by <em>her<em>then he wouldn't need anything else. He rested his hands on the table at the center of his clinic, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

_**Cease this self-pity. You have done well without anyone thus far. You will continue to do just that.**_

"Even if that was true, it doesn't mean I want to be alone the rest of my life," Anders argued with the spirit aloud. "This may escape you, Justice, but humans sometimes need someone other than themselves to talk to. You are not going to judge me for wanting some real blasted companionship!" He slammed his fist with finality on the makeshift table so hard it rattled.

"Mew!" Anders startled and blinked at the meek little noise coming from beneath the cloth on the table. Slowly, he crouched down and lifted the edge and the sight he beheld made something in his chest tighten and then swell with warmth almost simultaneously.

A small cat was crouched, eyes wide and bewildered from the loud and violent noise that had come abruptly above it. Immediately, Anders forgot his current woes and felt guilty for having frightened it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he spoke softly. "I didn't mean to scare you." The little cat, a tabby it seemed, striped with golds and deep browns, peered up at him with cautious and wide green eyes. Anders just looked at it a moment, marveling at how healthy and well-kept it looked for a stray. Perhaps it had belonged to someone in Hightown and gotten lost? Whatever the reason, he couldn't contain his childish excitement that this lovely little cat had come to visit. Usually the cats in Darktown wouldn't wander much closer than the milk dish he put out for them by the door. "Are you hungry? Just...give me a second... Stay right there."

Keeping his motions slow, he went to retrieve the untouched milk from the clinic door to bring it over and slid it beneath the table towards the feline. It seemed to have calmed a bit in the last few minutes and sniffed at the milk only briefly before beginning to lap it up. Anders smiled at this and got up again to go see if he had anything left from his lunch that he might share.

He waited patiently while the cat enjoyed the milk, planting himself cross-legged a small distance from the table with his lunch pack in his lap. He idly began to eat a bit of fish sandwich he had neglected to touch earlier that day, making sure to set some of the best parts aside for his guest. When the cat had drank its fill, it promptly began to give its face a good, proper cleaning. Anders grinned at the sheer cuteness of it.

"Feel better?" he asked and the large green eyes turned to him again as a tiny pink tongue stretched over its mouth one last time. "By the gods, you're adorable," Anders chuckled. This earned him a squinted, contented expression from the tabby. Reaching to pluck up a little tidbit of fish he'd set aside, he held it out and tilted his head to see better under the table. "Care for some fish?"

He watched with hope as the little pink nose lifted and caught the scent of the meat between his fingers. Gradually, the forepaws slipped closer, followed by the haunches and a wary, swaying tail. In an attempt to draw the cat out further he pulled his hand back little by little until the cloth fluttered back down behind it. He then set the fish down and was happy to see it gobbled up quite appreciatively with a twitch of charmingly long whiskers that splayed out from the feline's face and brow.

"Where did you come from, I wonder...," he thought aloud, resting his chin in a hand. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you... I could use some company."

The cat blinked once, tail curling at the end inquisitively.

"I don't get a lot of visitors... Or... Well, I get visitors... but they're usually patients. It's nice to see a new face."

Another swipe of the tongue over tiny teeth, accompanied by a purr.

"Hm," he chuckled. "Glad to see someone so content in Darktown." Absently, he lifted his hand and then rested it on the edge of his boot, fingers flexing a bit. He wanted to try to pet the little cat, for its fur looked quite soft and plush, but he didn't want to drive it away. He'd already done that enough with Hawke.

Oh, damn, he thought, closing his eyes now. Why did he have to think of that mess again? He'd almost forgotten it entirely, having been distracted by the cat, but now that it was on his mind again he felt the heaviness return to his chest. Why did he have to dwell on these things so much? He knew why. He never wanted to admit it, but he knew. For all his angst and insistence that everyone would be better of without him, despite the fact he hardly considered himself a human anymore...he was lonely.

A cold, wet sensation on his fingers caused him to lift his head just a bit and open his eyes. Down by his hand, the little cat touched its nose to his skin, then gave the tiniest lick of its tongue. Anders would have notched it up to the smell of fish on his fingers, except that the cat also tilted it's head and brushed its cheek over the same spot. Mine, it purred, and padded about on its toes.

Anders swallowed the choke that rose in his throat, lifting his hand now to brush his palm over the cat's back. It was just as soft as he supposed. A smile quirked at one corner of his mouth as the paws padded back and forth, round and round, repeating the brushes to his hand.

"A girl...," he noted briefly on one of her turns. "And such a sweet one, too."

She turned her eyes to him then and he offered a warm smile, scratching under her chin lightly.

"What should I call you, lovely lady?" He chuckled deeply as she rounded his leg and peeked over his knee at the pile of fish tidbits and quickly snagging one before he could stop her. "Hmm... What about Mischief? That seems to suit you."

"Mew!" she cried with a quick blink.

"You don't need to by shy, you know," he said. "All you have to do is ask and I'll be happy to help you." He watched as Mischief ducked her head a little, almost as though he'd reprimanded her. "Now, now, don't make that face..." Lightly brushing his hand up under her belly he carefully lifted her into his lap so she could reach the rest of the fish. "I'm not mad..." He brushed his hand over her her head and back again soothingly, amused at how she still looked at him as if to ask permission. He smiled softly and nodded. Mischief proceeded to eat the rest of the treat he had saved for her, purring the whole while.

Anders had forgotten how comforting having a cat curled up in his lap could be. He didn't know how long he sat there with her as she kneaded at his robe with her pin-like claws. She nicked him through the cloth once or twice, but he kept his flinching to a minimum and was still so as not to disturb her. The oil in the forgotten lantern burned out long before he finally just fell asleep like that.

* * *

><p>When Hawke awoke curled tightly into a ball amongst her sheets with her face pressed into her pillow, she felt a tinge of sadness and happiness all at once.<p>

Her bed, though perfectly comfortable and warm, did nothing to compare with what it was like to be snuggled up in the arms of a certain mage. His gentle caresses and the warmth in his voice was all that was needed to lull her to sleep in his lap. She had only just made it home a couple of hours ago, thankful to have woken before he did so she could take her leave unnoticed. During the evening, Anders had opted to lay down on the ground, tugging her sleepily along into the crook of his arm. It seemed a shame to leave him like that, and she was far too timid to attempt to change back to a human in his presence. So she did all a little cat could do and gave him the gentlest of apologetic head-bumps, delighted at his contented expression, and scampered away.

The bright side to all of it, and what had her smiling like a fool into her pillow, was that she'd gotten to experience being close to him. A wish that she was certain would never come true had suddenly become possible, and all it took was one little spell. Hawke could barely contain the thrill in her heart. It was likely she looked like the love-struck fool with that extra skip in her step while humming a tune as she got ready for the day ahead.

She didn't think too much about the plans for the Wounded Coast that day as it felt like standard fare. Wander the coast, knock some heads, set some people on fire and reap the benefits for making the world a better place to live in. Hawke felt a wry grin cross her lips, seemingly of it's own will. She was in such a good mood, she hardly believed it could get any better. Another hum picked up in her throat as she trotted down a set of steps and rounded a corner, heading to the Hanged Man to meet her companions.

And, Maker, she really should have been watching where she was going.

Hawke felt herself stumble backward, only saved from falling flat on her rear by the helpful hands of whoever she'd bumped into. And when she saw who it was – all those lovely winsome feelings quickly fled and hid in the deepest parts of her heart – leaving her feeling like she just wanted to nothing but die.

Hawke had assumed that her little shape-shifting experiment was the key to helping her on the road to finally confessing her feelings for the man she loved. It had seemed promising as she found her courage easily in the guise of a tiny feline, but she had never expected that that might be where it stopped. For as she stood, half of her body crushed into Anders as he attempted to stop them both from toppling, she still felt utterly and completely mortified.

Even worse was that he looked right into her flushed face and embarrassed eyes and still had the wondrous courtesy of granting her an awkward smile. He was saying something, apologizing or something like that, as his hands tried to right her without being too intimate. Hawke could do little more than act as a boneless doll, barely hearing anything he spoke, and just staring at him in disbelief.

"Hawke?" Yes, she heard that. "Are you...whoa, now!" He closed the gap between them and caught her shoulders when she appeared to waver in her balance. "Are you okay?"

"What...Wha...What are you doing here?" Holy Andraste, she'd managed to form a sentence!

"We're going to the Wounded Coast today, right? I.. You wanted me to come, I thought."

Hawke's mouth clamped shut, apparently having spent all it's vigor forming her prior response. She willed her heart to stop trying to escape her chest and for her tongue to stop folding in knots. At a loss for all this and seeing his expression start to fall, she just nodded. And when she realized she could actually do that, boy, did she nod like there was no tomorrow.

"Mmmhmm," she managed around her parched mouth. Anders perked up again, apparently glad he actually got a response, or perhaps it was because she wasn't running from him as though he was a holy terror. Whatever it was, Hawke silently thanked all the good forces of Thedas for allowing her not to faint or make an entire fool of herself like usual.

"Alright. We shouldn't keep the others waiting, I suppose." Hawke could tell by the way he talked that he was feeling cautious about how he acted around her. She wanted nothing more than to apologize for the entire misunderstanding, but alas, he had already put distance between them as he headed for the Hanged Man. It wasn't as though her words had suddenly decided to untangle themselves, anyway, so she simply resigned herself to watching him go and following quietly behind.

The morning had gone so delightfully well that Hawke could not believe her strain of bad luck the rest of the day. Aside from inadvertently falling into Anders' arms, which she would have loved under any other circumstances, the trip to the coast had pretty much been a bust. It was like all the criminals were on holiday or else committing crimes anywhere that they weren't. Never in her life had Hawke wished to pummel someone with her staff more than on that day. At least it would have distracted her from the fact Anders kept throwing glances in her direction. She purposely avoided looking back, feeling lost and frustrated for what to do.

It came as a great relief when Varric finally voiced what they were all probably thinking, and suggested they head back to town. There was obviously no fun to be had today. Hawke agreed, but made it a point to hang back, wedging her boot into the sand of the shoreline and out again while waiting for her companions to go. Merrill's chatter with Varric gradually became distant and Hawke allowed herself to enjoy the view off the coast. The sky had just begun to show sprinkles of gold amidst the dimming blue, promising that nightfall was not far behind.

"Hawke?"

Her fingers curled tighter into her sleeves as she had her arms crossed. Would this day just not cease its attempt to turn her into an anxious mess?

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, Anders did not draw any closer.

"I do not know what I've done to cause you so much distress," he said, needlessly apologizing for something that really wasn't his fault. "But I hope, whatever it was, you can forgive me." She just barely heard his boots trudge away in the sand.

_No, you've done nothing_, she wanted to say. Her heart willed her to turn and run after him, to throw herself at his back and wrap her arms about him. _You've done all the right things_.. She couldn't leave it like this, no. It would drive her mad all night. She knew she'd promised herself only to use the spell once, but...

"Coming, kitten?"

"What? What do you mean! I am not! Oh..." Hawke sputtered at Isabela's call, and then remembered that it was a nickname she'd given to herself and Merrill. Isabela had not suddenly learned how to read minds – Maker knows what mischief that would bring upon the world if it were so!

Mischief, Hawke thought. He had named her Mischief.


	2. The Letter

"Mischief!" Anders realized the simple return of the little cat made him feel happier than he had in months. He was equally warmed by how friendly she was despite having only visited once before. When he saw her and called her name, she responded with recognition, tail standing high as she trotted over to him as though they'd been friends forever. It was something he'd missed dearly after having to give up Ser Pounce A Lot. He instinctively stooped to pick her up and rubbed his forehead against hers. She began to purr and it made him smile like a fool. "I was worried you might not come back."

A tiny paw reached out and pressed against his nose and he gave a soft laugh.

"Oh, was I wrong?" he said, amused.

"Mew," she squeaked.

"Oh," he said. "I'm sorry I doubted you then, milady." Settling her up against his shoulder, he allowed her to crawl up and perch upon them, contented by her purrs and gentle nudges against his cheeks. It was a welcome and familiar feeling as he moved across the clinic to settle down into what doubled as a storage space and his bed depending on the time of day. It really only differed depending on whether or not he had a pillow or blanket that day. Sometimes he had neither as he tended to give them away to his patients or the needy in Darktown. He'd managed to find an old blanket to use that night and considered it a blessing.

He moved things about, making it as comfortable as possible. Once done, he settled down and pulled Mischief into his lap, cradled in by his knees. He scratched at the scruff of her neck and at her shoulders affectionately.

"So, how has your day been?" he asked, happy to initiate a conversation with her. "Better than mine, I hope." Mischief said nothing, though her eyes flickered to the side before returning to him. "Hm. Let me guess. You returned to Hightown and met a nice, well-bred fellow who promised to whisk you away to a life of luxury and only the finest fish?" He could barely stifle his laugh at how offended she seemed to look at this remark, ears falling back for the briefest moment. He gave a tug at the tip of one of them and she shook her head to get it free. "Not one for the fancy parties, then? Mmm, I understand. You seem like more the adventurous type, anyway, venturing all the way to Darktown like this to see me." He studied the lovely little stripes and markings on her face as he petted her head. "Reminds me a bit of someone I know..."

Mischief padded about and finally rested down on his stomach, curling her feet beneath her and giving him rather soulful look. Anders wasn't sure what the reason; perhaps he was more lonely than he thought or maybe he couldn't get her out of his head no matter what he did, but he was suddenly reminded of Hawke. Come to think of it, she had green eyes, too – almost that exact same shade.

"Sometimes I wish I were a cat, too," he spoke his mind. "It seems so much less complicated sometimes. I'd gladly trade being a mage for such a free life. At least I'd know I have a friend." Mischief seemed to sense his melancholy and rose just enough to slink higher, finding a place between his chest and shoulder where she nudged her head below his chin. Anders grew still as she moved and brought his hands up to hold her as he could feel her purr rise against his neck. He tilted his head and brushed his jaw slightly against her warm little form.

They sat silent for a time with the exception of Mischief's purr. Anders casually stroked her coat with the backs of his fingers, sometimes stopping for a light scratch behind her ears. When the quiet rumbling from her began to quiet, he wondered if she'd fallen asleep. He smiled a little weakly to himself. Was it terribly sad that he could have sat here forever with this little cat tucked so affectionately in his grasp and been happy?

"You want to know a secret?" he asked softly. One of Mischief's ears flicked against his jaw. "I love her... that person you remind me of... Hawke..."

Mischief's head popped up from beneath his chin and she regarded him with an unexpected and intense interest. Like most the things she did, Anders found the sudden perk adorable, particularly how her ears bent forward. He bit his lip a bit, feeling very scrutinized all of a sudden.

"No worries," he said, finally. "She won't replace you... She doesn't even like me very much."

"Mrow!" Mischief said with certainty. Anders cocked his head to the side and was certain this was the most serious expression a cat had ever given him. He attempted to soothe her with another stroke of her head.

"No, I promise, I'm all yours. I'll even prove it," he said, reaching to a pocket inside his robe and retrieving a bit of deep blue satin. It was a striking contrast to the worn state of his clothes and he smiled as it seemed to catch Mischief's attention. "This is very important to me. I've had it ever since I was brought to the Circle for the first time. It was a gift...and it's kind of been my good luck charm..." He chucked and regarded the bit of fabric a moment. "Helped me escape seven times, anyway." Bringing it up, he wrapped it about Mischief's neck and tied it just loosely so it sat like a small handkerchief about her neck. "I want you to have it... Maybe it will give you some luck with your troubles... I don't think it works for me much anymore." Despite his words, he still smiled, rather pleased with how striking she looked with the blue on. "This is really your color, you know."

Mischief sniffed the fabric and gave him a look like she truly wanted to say something, but her feline language had no words for it. The mage just pulled her close and closed his eyes.

* * *

><p>"Please, Varric. I'll buy your drinks for a whole month. Two, even!"<p>

"Tempting, I'll admit. But you know I'm a sucker for a good story, Hawke. Perhaps if you share some details with me..."

"I can't," Hawke pouted, slumping in her chair in a rather childlike fashion and crossing her arms. Her evening and morning had been full of nothing but memories of Anders and the blue handkerchief. The small token was tucked away in the inner pocket of her robe, close to her heart and well out of sight. She had assumed that he likely lived in his clinic since he worked day and night and never seemed to go anywhere else unless he joined her on an excursion. What she hadn't considered was just how dilapidated and sorry his living conditions truly were. She scolded herself fiercely for having missed such an obvious thing, it was Darktown after all, and she wanted with all her heart to do something to make things better for him. No one should have had to endure living in those conditions, but least of all a man that was so giving and kind as he was.

There was plenty of room at the Hawke estate, she'd reasoned. The grand mansion was larger than she truly needed for herself and Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana took up hardly any space at all. It only made sense that Anders could make good use of the untouched guest room with a large plush bed whose bedding hadn't been even slightly ruffled since she moved in.

And besides...it had really been lonesome since she had no family to keep her company anymore... Sometimes in the evening the halls were far too quiet for her liking. It would be nice to have someone to come home to...someone who loved her... She still couldn't believe he'd said that.

As lovely it might have been, she could not ignore the fact that she still could barely speak a word to Anders, so she could not imagine what a disaster it might become. Still, there was something kindling deep inside her, a bit of hope, that suggested it may just be the thing she needed to get over her seemingly unfathomable shyness towards him. If they were together always...

Thinking on it made insides flutter, but there was still the matter of actually proposing the idea to him. All she could think to do was give him a letter. She could get her words down clearly on parchment, or so she'd assumed. Everything she tried to write seemed so terribly juvenile and would only have caused further embarrassment. It didn't help that she'd absently doodled in the margins or written their names together over and over when she had been daydreaming in the middle of writing. No, that would not do at all. So, who better to ask than the master of words himself? Unfortunately, he was proving a bit difficult about the whole thing.

"Now I really _am _interested," Varric said with a grin, leaning forward on the table. "Perhaps we could make a game of it and I could guess."

Hawke raised an uneasy brow at him. Varric was far too good at figuring these things out and always offered ways to elaborate on the details. If he didn't guess her story right out, the things he might end up suggesting would make her face burn so much he'd probably think they were true!

"I suppose," she dared.

"It's about Anders, isn't it?" Blast! She was doomed! The look on her face must have spoke her feelings clearly because he laughed and leaned back in his chair with a smack of his hand to the table. "No need to look like a nug in the torchlight, Hawke. That little story has been written all over your face for months now."

"It has not," she argued, indignant.

"Oh?" The grin splayed itself over his face further and he called out into the Hanged Man. "Rivaini!" In a matter of moments, Isabela's boots thudded up the steps as she rounded into his room with a pleasantly drunk look on her face.

"What is it, Varric? I'm in the middle of a rather interesting game of Wicked Grace. You'd think Fenris would be better at staying stone-faced, but I swear - " Varric cut her off by holding up a hand and beckoned her over with a finger until she was standing near the table between he and Hawke.

"Hawke needs some advice concerning a matter of the heart." He pressed his hand wistfully to his chest. Isabela's eyes widened and she immediately looked to Hawke.

"You're finally going to bed Anders, are you? It's about time! I always knew that deep down you were feisty thing!" Hawke gripped the arms of the chair as the pirate jostled her playfully by the shoulders.

"No! I am not!" she replied, already feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. "It's not like that, I just -!"

"Loooove him?" Isabela said in sing-song with an amused smile. Hawke could only gape. "Oh, come on now, kitten. You've been making puppy eyes at him for ages."

"There are no puppy eyes!" she insisted.

"There are _always _puppy eyes," Fenris voice rumbled from the doorway. Hawke turned and looked at him in disbelief as he leaned on the frame with his arms crossed.

"Maker, not you, too!" she huffed, pressing her face into a palm.

"I'm sorry, Hawke," he said, and she was only mildly consoled by the fact he sounded genuine. "You're not very good at hiding your emotions."

"Fenris," Isabela intoned.

"I'm just speaking the truth. I'm not saying it's a bad trait to have," he said. "If he hasn't noticed by now, though, he's more thick-headed than I thought."

"Thank you for reminding us of your wonderful sense of tact, Fenris," Isabela smirked and moved to usher him back downstairs.

"So says the pirate," Hawke heard Fenris reply. There was some sort of scuffle between them that Hawke didn't see as she settled down in her chair, mortified. She was pretty certain she heard Fenris say something about not flicking him in the ears like that.

"Oh, and Rivaini? That's all an act! Don't let him fool you!" Varric called before turning his attention back to Hawke.

"Listen, Hawke. We're not trying to make this harder for you. It makes sense that he wouldn't know."

"Because of me...," Hawke offered solemnly.

"No," Varric said with a good-hearted chuckle. "You know how he is. From the moment we met him he did nothing but talk about how much trouble he'd cause us. He really believes that he needs to keep his distance. Your tendency to run for the hills when he's in the room might not help, but he's likely blaming it on himself."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," she said.

"You didn't let me finish," he said and she lifted her eyes to him. "All the while you've been gazing longingly at him, he's been doing the very same to you. And that, my dear lady, means you have not lost this battle yet. And if any of my stories should have taught you anything, it's that you _always_win your battles."

"Never quite so elegantly as you paint it," she said, folding her hands in her lap.

"If you think that my vision of you is marvelous, then you aught to think of how Anders sees you."

"What do you mean? Has he said something?"

"Not said, not that he needs to. Trust me, my stories are nothing in comparison with that."

Hawke fell silent a moment, considering Varric's words. Anders had said he loved her, not directly, but he had said it. Was it possible that he got the same feelings when he saw her, that he had the same lonesome wishes for companionship at night when he was all alone? Hadn't he repeatedly said just that – that he wanted a friend, that he wanted someone, that he wanted her? She remembered how happy he'd been to see Mischief, how tightly he had clutched her tiny form close as though he was afraid to let her go for fear she might never come back.

Could it be he needed her as much as she needed him?

Hawke turned her eyes back to Varric, gnawing on her lower lip. He gave her a small shake of the head accompanied by a smile.

"Alright, I'll help you write your letter."

Thank the Maker for Varric, Hawke smiled.

* * *

><p>Anders took a deep breath to clear his head as he watched the couple leave his clinic. They had been his fifth visit today, were newly expecting, and a perfectly sweet reminder of everything he'd ever really wanted in life. Despite the fact they were living in Lowtown, they seemed entirely content with one another, concerned only for the welfare of their baby. He could have easily been just as blissful with the small things, something he had admitted to the Warden when they traveled together. So far, he hadn't had much luck with any of said things, or at least, they hadn't panned out exactly as he'd imagined.<p>

He got the chance to throw lightning at bandits and criminals, but not at any of the people he'd really like to, his meals were few and far between and he had a pretty girl, but she was a cat. He didn't dare complain in the slightest, however, for he didn't want to jinx what good had come into his life. Seeing the clinic currently empty, he allowed himself a moment to rest and sat down on one of the crates in the corner. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes with the intent of only giving them a brief rest before getting ready to receive more patients should they arrive at his door. The day's visitors thus far had consumed a great deal of his energy and mana so it was no wonder when he accidentally began to doze.

He was awakened by an unexpected weight landing in his lap, almost directly impacting some very tender parts. Squirming for a second as he willed the ache away, he realized that Mischief was the culprit. She stared up at him after having slipped off his lap when he expressed discomfort over her dramatic entrance. Even through the pained expression he did his best to smile.

"Could you please give me some warning before you jump up like that?" he asked, finally re-situating himself properly. "Just to be safe." Reaching over to give her head a proper pet in greeting, his fingers brushed over something tucked in the handkerchief he'd given her. He pulled it from her and began to unfurl it in his hands. "What's this?"

"Mew," Mischief said brightly.

His eyes skimmed the writing once without reading and quickly glimpsed Hawke's signature at the bottom. In his chest, his heart lurched, and his eyes flew to the cat beside him as he clutched the paper in his hands.

"This is from Hawke," he said, embarrassed at how his voice cracked upon saying her name. It hadn't done that since he was a boy. "How did you get this?" Mischief tilted her head a little higher, eyes squinting as her tail gently swayed against the crate. Anders turned back to the letter to read it now. There wasn't very much to read, but what little there was made him utter an audible sigh. "This can't be right... She can't possibly mean..."

"Prrow!" Mischief insisted, her paws on his leg as she stood up tall now, fluffy chest puffed out with certainty. Anders regarded her with surprise and then held up the letter.

"She's asking me to move in with her... I mean... to stay at the estate. She can barely look at me... I don't understand..." The cat leapt to his shoulders then and padded around to rub her cheek against his in a bout of sudden affection. Her paws clawed and kneaded at one of his pauldrons, ruffling the feathers there. Anders let his hand rest in his lap with the parchment, reaching up with the other to scratch at her neck. "Well, you certainly seem to think this is good news. How is it you got this letter, anyway? Could it be...?" He felt his stomach flop. "Could it be you're _Hawke's cat_?"

Mischief would reveal none of her secrets, but simply settled down on his shoulders and watched him warmly.

"And you didn't tell me?" he feigned dramatic disbelief. "After all I've told you... I'm wounded." A purr arose loudly by his ear. "I suppose it makes sense that Hawke would have such an adorable cat. Has she been sending you to me, I wonder?" His head began to fill with many a thought of what this all meant, about Mischief, about Hawke, and most of all, the very idea of finally being with her...if only in the same home.

As he rose to his feet and paced the room, he wondered why Hawke had never mentioned a cat. Then again, she didn't say much to him so he decided that must have been it. She must have gotten Mischief after she moved into the estate.

**Your thought priorities astound me.**

Justice was right, if rude for intruding. Why in Thedas was he wondering about Mischief when the woman he loved had just invited him to live in her home? Anders had to keep reading the letter in order to prove to himself that it truly said what he thought it did. Unlike most of their awkward conversations, her words in the letter were clear and to the point, welcoming but politely reserved. Had he not harbored deeper feelings for her, it may have plainly read as a generous offer from a friend to a friend. As it was, he was having a hard time quelling the longing that it might mean something more.

She must have been waiting for his response and he really shouldn't keep her waiting. Would it be too forward of him to go straight there now? Would he appear too eager? She certainly seemed to startle easily. He had wandered the full expanse of the clinic, sat and rose again a few times, and Mischief held on to his shoulders for the the entire indecisive ride. He finally stopped in the center of the room and shifted on and off his toes once or twice.

"Well, what do you think? You're Hawke's cat," he said, looking over at her. "Should I go now or -?"

Mischief blinked and batted at his nose.

"You're right. I'm being foolish. I have to stay here for my patients, but I'll go as soon as night falls."

Mischief expressed her approval with a touch of her cold, wet nose to his cheek.


	3. Hiccups

Hawke could not bring herself to leave the healer's side for the remainder of the day. She continued to perch on his shoulders as he tended to the people of Darktown, allowing herself to be petted by the children and was warmed by their giddy smiles. It was hard to say how much joy they found living on such meager means in such a dank and dusty place, so the idea that she could provide even a moment to them made her happy. She silently vowed to them that she would do her best to improve their lot just as she hoped to do for Anders. Watching him work so gently and skillfully with these people only made her love for him blossom further. He was soft spoken with those who were nervous, firm and politely insistent with those who were obstinate, and playful and warm with the children. Whether in the slums of Darktown or an established clinic in Hightown, she felt he must have been born for this.

Though all the magic use took its toll on him as the day became long, Hawke could tell he enjoyed helping people. If he could send one person, one child, one family home that night feeling better than they had when they walked through the door, he was content. Yet, deep down, she knew he always wished he could do more.

It was easy to lose track of time in his presence, soothed by his jokes and caring nature, so Hawke hadn't even realized how late it was until he carried her to the door to retrieve the lantern and blow out the dim remainder of its light.

"Maker, what a long day," he hummed, sounding tired as he set it down on a table near the door. "They always seem longer when you're anxious about something, I suppose." Cradled in his arm, Hawke knew exactly what he meant, but she began to feel anxious now for a different reason altogether. How was she going to get away so she could greet him at the estate? She didn't think it would be kind to wrestle her way out of his arms and run for the door in an attempt to beat him there. It was such a comforting place to be, too, cuddled up where she could feel his heart beat. How could she possibly leave now?

So she stayed all the while he did his best to freshen up and close up the clinic, unable to be a typical panicked mess while he held her and stroked her and tickled her paws. Before long they had climbed into Hightown and were mere strides away from her home and that was when she took the chance. She hopped down to the stone and scampered ahead of him, clambering up the vines on the wall towards the open window above.

She nearly tripped over her feet as she transformed in a hurry mid-way down the steps inside.

Bodahn was already headed leisurely for the door upon the first knock, and Hawke nearly brought them both to the floor in her rush. Sandal must have supposed they were doing some sort of strange but amusing dance as he clapped while they spun about each other. Hawke quickly apologized and managed to get to the door before the third knock hit the wood, flinging it wide and standing there breathless. As she reached up to adjust her lounge robe that had flopped haphazardly off her shoulder and caught sight of Anders' perplexed expression, she decided that it might have been better to let Bodahn get the door after all.

"I'm... I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" Anders asked. "I got your letter and -"

"No!" Hawke declared, a might too loud she thought. She hiccuped and began to flush red, covering her mouth with a hand before trying again. "No... No, it's fine." Anders continued to look at her, lips slightly parted with a brow cocked in a inquisitive fashion. Hawke began to feel self-conscious, and brought her hand to her face to see if there was anything there. That was when she realized the presence of the soft blue fabric about her neck. With a tinge of panic she whipped it off and into her hand, stuffing it in her back pocket. _He knows! Oh, Maker, he knows,_her mind screamed. She had to distract him, and quick!

In a daring manner she never expected she was capable of, her hand darted out and grasped his, pulling him inside the estate.

"I'm...I'm glad you're here! I was afraid you...might not come...or rather..that my letter... Might not..." The hiccups were back again so she paused and held her breath in hopes it might help them cease.

"I wasn't sure at first, but I thought it would be rude of me to turn down such a gracious offer," Anders said, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. His eyes were fixated on the other, which was still in Hawke's iron grip. "It would be of great help to me, though, I thought you found me to be bad company."

"Oh _hic_ don't be _hic_ silly. I think you're _hic_ great _hic_ company." Apparently, the forces that be had a sense of humor, gracing her with a brand new speech impediment to muck things up.

"Is that true?" he asked, and Hawke suddenly recognized that look of longing Varric had mentioned even though it was faint and tentative. She was also keenly aware of the way his fingers just lightly curled about her hand. She nodded in response to his question, but averted her eyes and fiddled with her hair and the end of her robe, anything to busy the twitchy, free hand. "I'm glad."

She stood there, shuffling the toe of one boot against the heel of the other, body trembling every few seconds with another hiccup. Anders' hand slipped from her grasp and she could see out of the corner of her eye that he'd stepped closer. There was still a comfortable amount of distance between them, but she was certain she could feel his warmth even then, or perhaps it was just the fading ghost of his touch on her hand.

"Do you want some help with that?" he asked and, with some effort, she managed to look at him, or at least, over his shoulder.

"What _hic_? Help with _hic _what?" He chuckled softly and she felt her knees quiver beneath her, threatening to give.

"With your hiccups," he said, sounding even more amused, but still polite.

"I don't know... I _hic_ should be fi-_hic_ Maker, _yes_." Had she really just said that last part or only thought it? She honestly wasn't sure, and considering the fact that Anders had just placed his hands lightly beneath her ribcage, she didn't really care. Instinctively, she went rigid, gaze falling to his hands up against her. She could feel the pads of his fingertips gently pressing over the area and when she looked at his face she recognized the focused, determined look of Darktown's healer.

"Give me a deep breath and try to relax," he said, and she did her best to comply. Her hiccups persisted, but only for a moment as a warm, tingling feeling ran through her upper body. The treatment worked wonders, but didn't last nearly long enough for her liking, and she couldn't contain the sigh that escaped her when he pulled away.

"Better?" he asked, smiling. It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her. She was far too busy gazing at him in love-struck wonder.

"Ah, yes," she finally said.

"Good – ah – I hope that wasn't too forward of me... I didn't even ask if you minded."

"S'fine," she murmured. "Let me … Let me show you to your room." She turned and headed for the stairs, glad for an excuse to turn from him long enough to will her heart to stop beating so hard. Her footfalls were light on the steps now as she tried to present at least some semblance of grace. Anders followed her up at a short distance, not so much noticing the way she padded up the stairs as the bit of blue fabric hanging out of her back pocket. Somewhere in his mind Justice was voicing his disapproval at having his eyes glued to her hindquarters like that, but he had become far too curious to ignore it.

"So, you have a cat?" he asked casually as they reached the top of the stairs.

"What?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder. Then the memory seemed to return to her. "Oh! A cat! Uhm, yes. I have a cat." Her strides towards the door became a bit more swift.

"A small one, with gold and brown colors... You know, like your hair."

Hawke fiddled with the door handle, finding it strangely difficult to open. The door always stuck a bit but for some reason it seemed particularly troublesome just then.

"Oh, does she?" she said, intent on sounding like it was all a passing thought. "I...I...never noticed that, really. I don't see her much these days." With a breath and a shove of her shoulder to the door it finally gave and she hurried inside.

"That's probably because she's been visiting me, actually," he said as he followed her into the room. "It was sort of crafty having her deliver your message."

"Crafty? I...I don't know what you mean."

"I just mean it was creative. Did you know she was coming to Darktown?" He genuinely hoped that maybe Hawke had been sending Mischief his way on purpose, perhaps as a means to open up the communication between them. It was always easier to talk if there was something you could both relate to. Granted, he had hoped he might be able to speak with her about the plight of the mages, but that was clearly much too heavy a subject when just speaking in general seemed a feat. For now, talking about cats would be a good start. Hawke was still by the door, gripping the handle, and shook her head slowly. "Oh, I thought maybe that's why you sent the message with her."

"Oh... I don't keep track of her comings and goings... Uh...You know...cats..."

"Yes," he conceded with a smile and she was grateful she'd gotten that much right. He had wandered the room now, pausing to take a look at the small library of books there. "What's her name?"

"Sorry?"

"Your cat. She wouldn't tell me, the tease," he joked. "I just ended up calling her Mischief."

"That's it. Mischief," Hawke said quickly, and then realized how ridiculous that sounded. Anders turned with a book open in his hands and looked at her.

"Really?"

"Uh...yes?" she offered, at a loss.

"Interesting," he said before skimming through the book some more. "The room is lovely, by the way. It's more than I could have asked for."

Hawke couldn't have been more pleased at the change of subject and the fact that he liked it. She watched him as he slipped the book back into the shelf and pulled out another. Did he like reading, she wondered. Maybe he would like the same books she read. It would have been so pleasant to have someone to talk to about her favorite stories. Perhaps they could discuss them by the fire with some hot tea some night? She gave another soft sigh at the thought.

"You have quite the library. Have you read all of these?"

"No," she said. "Mostly just the ones in my room...Most just.." _Steamy romance novels_, she wouldn't admit. "Magic tomes..."

"Could I see some of them?" he asked, returning the latest book to the shelf now and turning to her. Hawke, ever ready to please her guest, nodded and headed out into the hall. Dashing into her room, she grabbed the nearest stack of books she'd been studying on her side table and carried them back to his room, settling them onto a small table with a hefty thump.

"Wow. A little light reading before bed then?" he laughed

"I don't read them _every _night..."

"Don't get me wrong, Hawke. I can admire a mage who's scholarly. I was never so disciplined," he admitted, giving the small tower of books another once over. He let his hand trail down over the spines and aged pages absently. "I...admire a lot about you, in fact."

"I...I..." …_.admire you, too. Your strength, your courage, and I really... _"I should go let Orana know we'll need to set another place for dinner." She turned and left the room, that disappointed feeling crawling into her stomach again as she descended the stairs. _No,_ she told herself, _you're making progress. You've managed to have a real __conversation and it will only get better from now on as long as you can keep your cool. Baby steps... Kitten steps..._

Anders, on the other hand, couldn't have been more thrilled with how things were going. Hawke had actually exchanged a good handful of sentences with him since he arrived. She had even told him that she thought he was good company, which eased a lot of his fears. He could see that she was still a little withdrawn and all the telltale signs of shyness made themselves readily apparent now that he'd had a chance to see them. It was rather adorable, he thought, and he almost felt guilty knowing that the compliments he gave her or his simple presence made her react as such...almost.

He took a moment to sit down on the bed, feeling it would be such a shame to make a mess of the painstakingly pressed cover and sheets. As soon as he landed on it and about lost his balance in the sheer plushness of it, he changed his mind and decided it would be a shame for it to go properly unappreciated. It was as though he had reverted to some part of his childhood that he never had the chance to explore when he flopped back on the mattress and lolled about, reveling in the softness of everything. He tried laying this way and that, fascinated by how it seemed to always feel perfect despite his position.

When he had finished experimenting with the bed, hair half mussed out of its ponytail from his antics, he decided he should probably try to clean up for dinner. There was little he could do for the poor condition of his robes but he wanted to at least make an effort. It would be the first time in a long while that he'd be sharing a meal with a lovely woman, or rather, the first time in a long while that he'd had a real meal, period. He looked forward to the whole prospect immensely.

In the long run, after much fussing, he opted to forgo his robes for the simple tunic and pants he normally wore beneath. They still weren't anything he'd be going to a Hightown party in anytime soon, but at least they had been less exposed to the muck of Darktown. When he was satisfied he was presentable enough, he grabbed up one of the books off the top of the stack that Hawke had been so kind to share and settled on the bed for some luxuriously comfortable reading. He really should have felt like a bad man for asking to read her magic tomes. He was surprised she'd turned them over so easily, since he always thought that you could learn quite a bit about a mage by the spells they studied. Then again, maybe Hawke just didn't have anything to hide. So far, the first volume had been little but rudimentary elemental spell casting, and hardly any of it was even offensive, mostly remedies for day to day life. It was seeming more and more likely that he would have to learn about her through the tried and true age old act of _interacting_. Novel idea, that, he thought.

The sound of Bodahn clearing his throat at the door caused him to look up from the pages.

"Master Anders, I am to inform you that dinner is ready and Mistress Hawke requests your presence in the dining room."

Anders felt his mouth curl into a crooked smile, eyebrows cocking in a similar fashion. He closed the book and set it on the bed, sliding over to the edge and heading over to the door.

"I've been called a lot of things, but that's a new one," he said.

"Well, you will be staying as Mistress Hawke's guest," Bodahn said. "So that is what we should call you, Messere."

"That's a new one, too."

"Ah, well. Any friend of the Mistress is worthy of such titles."

"If you insist," Anders said, trying his best to maintain a modest feeling, though he couldn't help but feel a tinge of highly amusing irony at all this as he followed Bodahn down the stairs. "So, how long has Hawke had Mischief?"

"Beg your pardon, Messere?"

"Her cat?"

"As far as I'm aware, the Milady has never had a cat. If she had, I'm sure my boy, Sandal, would have noticed. Loves animals, he does." Anders said nothing more, but let the oddness of this drift about in his mind as he entered the dining room and Hawke's manservant stepped aside with a small bow. The table in the center of the room looked as though it should be accommodating a great many more guests, but instead, Hawke sat alone at one end. She didn't even sit at the head of her own table, which he considered very like her. Even living in one of the largest mansions in Hightown, she still didn't put on airs. He was glad to see that his place had been set directly across from her. It was a good sign.

She looked up at him and her expression brightened from the deep-in-thought one she'd had as he entered. Yes, definitely a good sign. He pulled the chair out and sat down, quickly noting how comfortable the chairs were, too.

"Hello," he said brightly.

"Hi," she murmured, nudging her fork about with a fingertip. "Is everything...good?"

"Better than," he said.

"Good," she said, and he caught the faintest smile upon her lips before she turned to start serving up their meal. "Please...dig in."

Anders found himself torn between wanting to savor the warm, freshly prepared meal and wanting to talk to his beautiful and giving hostess. They didn't speak much during the entire meal, but being in her presence with the fire in the hearth and the wonderfully delicious scents of the food contented him. He had a difficult time eating slowly, but managed somehow as the succulent tastes of the duck and warm bread overtook his taste buds and made a warm, comfy home in his stomach. He had no doubt he would be sleeping well that night.

"Um," Hawke hummed, brushing her lips with the small dinner cloth. Anders took the moment to appreciate how soft they looked, but quickly turned his eyes to hers when she looked up. "Dessert?"

"Oh, Maker. You didn't tell me there'd be dessert," he said, slumping in mock distress in his chair. "I would have saved room, you silly woman."

"I'm sorry." He chuckled, righting himself.

"What is it? Just out of curiosity?"

"Apple pie."

"Auuugh," he groaned. "Blast. Now I _have_ to make room."

"You like apple pie?"

"I'll share something with you," he said, leaning over the table and she hesitantly leaned in to hear.

"I love _all _things pie." He watched her mouth quirk into another small smile. "Unfortunately, I have not had the privilege of partaking of said pies very often."

"So...you want pie?"

"I'll probably regret it later...but, yes, I would love some pie."

"Kay," she said softly, eyes squinting with the slightest sparkle to them as she rose from the table and gathered their dishes. Anders leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching her go fondly, and entertaining the thought that he was certain he'd seen that look somewhere before.

* * *

><p>"Shouldn't have had the pie," Anders muffled into the covers as he allowed himself to flop down face-first into the bed. He hadn't felt so full in ages and his stomach was bordering somewhere between being happy and in pain.<p>

**Exercise a little control, would you?**

"But it was soooo gooood," he groaned and clambered up enough to start unhooking his boots to get them off. Once the second one slipped away he sprawled over the bed and brushed his hand over his face, giving a deep yawn. Oh, yes, he was going to sleep well tonight.


	4. Midnight Visitor

Hawke was restless. She'd been laying awake for hours thinking about the events of the evening, thinking about Anders just mere steps away in the room down the hall. She wondered if he was asleep, wondered how he might look curled up in the bed, wondered how it would be to be there with him.

With a frustrated groan, she tossed the blankets aside and wandered over to the window, wrapping herself in the Hawke family robe she always wore at home. Her busy mind began to scheme despite how much she tried not to. She'd almost gotten caught once already. How could she possibly be thinking of tempting fate again? Determined to sabotage her better judgment, her mind filled with memories of his smile at dinner, his humorous and casual demeanor, and the feeling of his heartbeat so close to her own.

Retrieving the blue handkerchief from beneath her pillow, she sat and just turned it over in her hands for a time. Just a small while, she promised herself, just to make sure he's sleeping soundly.

Hawke took the fact that Anders had not closed his door as a sign that this idea wasn't so bad as she padded silently across the floor and slipped through the small opening. The room was dark except for the moonlight that shone dimly through the window. She approached the end of the bed, sitting with tail swaying determinedly before she hopped with the utmost care up onto the surface. There he was, curled up on one side with the covers askew on the other end of the mattress. She stepped carefully around his legs and moved towards the head of the bed. He had his face half buried in one of the pillows, one arm submerged somewhere under the others while the one lay before him. His lips were parted as he breathed softly, quite obviously submerged in a sound sleep.

The purr arose in her small feline body at the sight. She was particularly charmed by how his hair, loosed from the tie, lay haphazardly over his face. Slowly, she drew closer, sniffing at his hand lightly, her whiskers tickling it enough for him to shift. He grunted and pulled both arms to one side now, blearily opening his eyes, half asleep, to look at her.

"Hmm, Mischief," came the groggy voice. "I was starting to think you were a figment of my imagination...Mrrm...or maybe I'm still dreaming..." Regardless, he reached over and pulled her in to cradle her in his arms. Hawke curled up comfortably there, resting her head in the crook between his hand and arm. It was funny how sleepy she quickly became, snuggled there against him in the dark. Even during all this time at the estate, she had never felt so at home as right then.

* * *

><p>Justice found that Anders was much less troublesome when he slept, even more so when he slept soundly. His dreams were quiet and the spirit had some time for himself as he took control of this subconscious world. The last few days had been nothing but endless frantic thoughts pummeling him as the mage worried over this woman. What was even more grating was that he didn't seem to realize that there was clearly magic at work here, that she was obviously deceiving him in the guise of a small animal. There had been many a time when he had tried to point this out to his host, but the mage had been irritatingly insistent on ignoring him more and more these days.<p>

As a spirit of Justice, he was not willing to sit idly by and allow these shenanigans to ensue further. He was in control now and it took little more than a prickle at the back of Anders' mind to encourage him to mutter the words of the spell in his sleep. He would remember it as well as any passing dream and Justice could do nothing but hope it would finally knock some sense into him.

* * *

><p>A sharp, pinching feeling at the back of his head interrupted Anders' blissful rest and he reached back to rub away the feeling with a grunt and some agitation. Once it seemed to subside, he moved to curl back up and reached for Mischief to draw the cat back into his arms. There was only one problem, she seemed to have gotten much larger than he recalled. His hand brushed over a fine cloth, and then up into some fine wisps of hair. He frowned, peeling his eyes open, and then froze entirely when they came into focus.<p>

Right there, curled up beside him and looking as content as a cat, was Hawke.

His first thought was that he must be dreaming, but he wasn't about to move to pinch himself and find out for sure. For one, this would have been the most incredible dream he'd had in a long while, and for two, she looked more peaceful right then than he'd ever seen her. Her breath fell like a whisper, light and warm, on his hands and he flexed his fingertips a little, yearning to touch her parted lips that were less than an inch away. There was no telling how long he lay there, senses seeming heightened ten-fold as she lay so close.

For once in a long while, fortune seemed to smile on him, and Hawke made to move in her slumber. Anders' breath caught in his throat and he held it until she had finally settled back down, snuggling right up to him, head pressed right up beneath his chin while her fingers grasped lazily at the fabric of his shirt. One of his arms had gotten caught beneath her head, and the opposite hand hovered in the air while she adjusted her position. He wasn't quite sure what to do with it for a time, thoughts tumbling one after another about what would be appropriate.

When he was certain she was wrapped back in a deep sleep, he let his hand rest cautiously against her shoulder, then dared to let the rough pads of his fingertips over her cheek and brushed some of the wayward hair back. He stopped short of stroking her hair when she made a soft noise in her throat, but allowed himself the chance when he saw her lips quirk in a smile and couldn't help but touch the soft strands again.

_You're a bad, bad man._ Anders wasn't sure whether the thought originated from himself or the spirit inside, but knew the following was more than likely all his. _And so ridiculously lucky._

His hand moved to rest just above her waistline, fingers tapping along in a hopes to encourage her to come closer. Unbelievably, it worked, and her body unfurled from the tight ball it was in to move closer. He let out a shallow breath, glancing absently up at the window and out at the night sky and thanking Andraste and the Maker and anyone else he could think of for good measure. Leaning back, he pressed his face against her hair and realized that she still smelled like the apple pie he'd indulged in hours prior. Had she made that, he wondered, and suddenly he was glad he'd decided to have it. The idea that she had gone through the effort to share something like that with him warmed him more than the pie itself had. Without a thought, he pressed his lips gently to her forehead. The gesture seemed to make sense, to come instinctively. He was not surprised, knowing he could have done it a million times before, and wanted to continue to do it still, to share the tender affections with her always, to have her near like this every night.

Anders began to doubt that he'd be able to sleep at all the rest of the evening, not with her right there in front of him. He had thought to ask why, something Justice seemed to grumble about in the back of his mind, but decided against it so he could just enjoy the rare moment instead. It felt nice to have someone else there, comforting and sweet in the big plush bed; definitely a stark contrast to the cold, lonesome nights at the clinic.

When she moved again, he stilled himself, as before, but became keenly aware that she had no pants on beneath that robe like he'd come to expect. Her calf landed on his, exposing small increments of her thigh as the robe shuffled while she cuddled back in. He had a hard time keeping his eyes off the teasing bit of fabric as it crawled higher, though his hand eventually shot out to stop it once it almost reached the top of her hip to stop it from going any farther.

He breathed a sigh of mild frustration. Somehow, in the simplicity of the moment between them, he had managed to keep these thoughts at bay. He was far more distracted by the fact that she was there in the first place to even have gone there in his mind. Now they were starting to pour in relentlessly and he willed them to cease, carefully reaching back to retrieve the blanket to cover her bare skin and, sadly, tuck a bit between them so he didn't get any funny ideas – well, parts of him, at least.

Laying there with her wrapped up in his arms, the restless nights he'd endured thus far and her warmth slowly lulled him back to sleep. He had grown used to being tired, but he hadn't realized just how exhausted he had been until he was given a chance to really relax and just _rest_. His dreams were few and far between, but when they were there, they were filled of images of himself and Hawke.

He felt it when she finally stirred, but didn't open his eyes right away, wanting to extend this dream as long as humanly possible. Hawke made a panicked noise and pulled against his arms, trying to subtly withdraw with him without disturbing him. It was likely she thought he was still asleep. She was trying to pry his fingers away from her robe when he popped one eye open at her.

"Good morning."

She screamed, though it wasn't really a scream so much as a high-pitched noise choked in her throat. Her hand flew to her mouth to silence it as she jerked up to a sitting position and stared at him wide eyes. With his arm released at last, Anders was free to fold it up and lean his head on his hand.

"What – what happened?" she asked, though she didn't seem to be asking him, exactly. Still, he offered her a shrug and a teasing 'I-dunno' noise in his throat. "I'm not sup-sup-posed to be here. I'm s...s..sorry." She stood and wrapped her robe tightly around her. It did little to cover her thighs, though.

"It's okay. I didn't mind sharing," Anders said. She was obviously flustered, so he kept the flirtatious comments threatening to topple out of his mouth at bay. He watched her eyes dart about like a frightened little animal before she look at him again, arms wrapped tightly about herself.

"I...I.. don't -"

"Maybe you're a sleepwalker," he suggested. "I knew a mage in the Circle who had that problem. Ended up setting things on fire in the middle of the night all the time."

"Yes!" she declared, pointing at him and he bit his tongue not to laugh at how easily she leapt on his explanation. "I walk in my sleep all the time!" He tilted his head in his hand and continued to just watch her timidly shuffle about the room. "I...I..uh... I have to go." With that, she took her leave at breakneck speed and Anders let himself roll onto his back on the bed, staring at the canopy above.

**Fool.**

"Oh, shut up. No one asked you," he muttered aloud, fingers playing with the covers. He was puzzled when he felt something soft and distinctly familiar brush his hand. Grabbing hold of it he lifted the blue handkerchief, unmistakably the very one he'd given Mischief, and held it up. Well, if there was any inkling that he may have been dreaming part or all of this, that certainly raised a few flags. Anders had had his suspicions, sure, but most of them he put down to Hawke's typical frenzied behavior or his own overactive imagination. He wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but that was getting more difficult to do by the minute.

She claimed to have a cat by the very name he'd chosen but no one else seemed to know of her. She greeted him at her door in possession of a very personal token he'd given to said cat and somehow ended up in his bed after he was certain he'd gone to sleep with...again...the cat. Crawling off the bed with the blue cloth in his grasp, he ventured over to the table of books she'd loaned him, checking the covers and pages for their content. He sort of hoped he wouldn't find anything incriminating - he hated to think she felt the need to deceive him so. That was all dashed, however, when he reached the book about three quarters of the way down the stack and flipped through the first few pages. There it was, right there. The book almost opened to the page itself, bookmarked with the attached satin.

"Blast," he said, rubbing his free hand over the stubble on his jawline. He wasn't sure how to take in the information. If Hawke had been Mischief from the very beginning, she had been spending time with him all along. She'd been sweet and affectionate, soothing his worries and his heartache...for her. He'd told her so much in confidence...he'd told her... The slam of the book on the floor when he'd accidentally dropped it made him jump. "Maker's breath..! I _told_ her!"

* * *

><p>Hawke felt like she had taken ten steps backwards.<p>

She was just starting to overcome her shyness, to talk and act as though she was a normal person around Anders. As she tried to think about where she had gone wrong, she realized that it was all because of her cowardly deception. Her father had taught her better than that. Magic was meant to help, not to hinder, not to help her lie. Yet, she was still torn. Everything had been going so well and then, all of a sudden, nothing was going right. What had happened the night before? She had never had a problem holding the transformation spell, even while asleep. She had slept as a cat outside many a time during the summer nights. Eager to find out what she may have done wrong, Hawke turned to her side table in search of the book she had been studying, only to find it completely vacant. A frantic feeling stabbed its way into her chest, and she ran to the book case, tossing things out left and right in search of the missing book. Nothing.

She cringed visibly, clenching her hands and stomping about like a child at her own stupidity. She couldn't have possibly - ? He was going to find out for sure, now! It was as though she was sabotaging herself and _trying _to get herself caught; changing there right in his bed, and before that, forgetting the handkerchief-!

As if she wasn't already on the brink of a self-induced heart attack, Hawke's breath caught and she patted herself down in search of the blue cloth. She had tucked it away in her robe pocket before shape-shifting that evening, and now it had vanished. No matter how much she dug into the pockets or turned the robe inside out. It was gone.

"No!" she couldn't contain the cry. Backing up to the bookcase she slid to the floor, face in her hands. What had she done to deserve this? Oh, maybe she was just always doomed for this humiliation! Why couldn't she have just told him? He had said he loved her; he might have reciprocated! But now, knowing that she had been sneaking in and he'd been confiding in her so openly without knowing, how could he trust her?

Hawke stifled a small, frustrated growl and sob. She could smite down ogres and dragons and, somehow, she was so inept at this. Why did love have to be so hard?

Across the hall, Anders hadn't been able to sit still for the past hour. He pressed his face into his hands, rubbed at his temples, tapped his foot, and when that all failed to bring about any ideas, he just stood and knocked his forehead against the wall.

How had he not seen this? He and Justice could sense magic miles away, and she'd been right there the whole time. Had he really let himself be so blinded by his loneliness that he just all-out-ignored it, charmed by her pretty little eyes and delicate little whiskers – by the idea that he might have found a friend in her?

No matter how he replayed it in his head, he still couldn't believe he'd _said_ it. He'd always wanted to tell her that, but never thought he'd get the chance, not with so much distance between them. He had always assumed she was thoroughly disinterested with him. Thankfully, that didn't seem to be true, but he was still perplexed by why she thought she had to come to him in the guise of a cat. She could have just as well visited him at the clinic as herself and he would have been just as thrilled - even more so. Did she think that _he_ didn't like _her_? He paused for a moment, trying to figure out if he'd done or said anything that might have implied such a thing.

On his umpteenth pass by the stack of books she'd loaned him, he plucked up the one on transformation and skimmed the pages again, hoping for some insight.

"The feline form is lithe and agile, silent and small in size. It is an ideal form for reaching high places and entering confined spaces, avoiding unwanted pursuers, spying..." He let out a breath and grunted at the word and skimmed lower "...helpful in increasing the mage's self-confidence and independence as felines naturally develop these qualities in life."

Anders tapped the page with his fingertips, recalling Hawke's incredibly obvious inability to look him in the eye most of the time. She always seemed on edge, fiddling around with her hands. He felt a bit of sympathy for her then, as this seemed like the most logical reason for her choice. Could it really have been, he wondered, that she found it difficult to be around him, so she took the form of something that could?

"Oh, Hawke," he murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed and thinking of Mischief again. The purring, the gentle, affectionate brushes of her face and nose. He'd said those words to her, and now he became aware that she may very well have said them to him as well, but he just didn't _understand_ her. He knew what it looked like when a cat said 'I love you', eyes bright and contently squinted, ears perked forward, a cooing purr rising from deep inside. Hawke had done exactly that...many times.

Slapping the book shut he hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck. What should he do now?

**Forget her. She is trouble.**

"Not an option," Anders replied, irritated. He felt himself at a loss, not sure if the right thing to do would be to confront her directly or to let her come to him when she was ready. All he could do was be supportive, show her he wasn't bothered by the fact he woke up with her in his bed. It was a rather nice surprise, in fact, and while she needn't have used a spell to come see him, he didn't condemn her for it. Yes, that sounded pretty good in his head, but when should he tell her?

Strangely enough, he wished Mischief were there right then to help him make the decision. For all her timid behavior around him, when Hawke was Mischief she was the steady hand...um, paw, he needed to help him think straight. It was a part of Hawke he had not seen anywhere but the battlefield, and he'd always wondered what it would be like to have someone so strong and compassionate at his side. Having experienced it, even if she was a cat, he knew that it was something he needed in his life.

If she would even utter a word to him again, that is.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe this," Isabela muttered.<p>

"Hand that bad, Rivaini?" Varric asked, absently organizing his own cards.

"What? No," the pirate replied with a playful snort. "I never have a bad hand, Varric. You know that. What I mean is the problem with the mages."

"Didn't know you were involved in things that serious," Fenris said, making a surprised noise in his throat.

"Nooo," Isabela groaned. "Not the bloody Kirkwall mage mess. I mean Anders and Hawke. All that build up and then, all of a sudden, it's like nothing ever happened. It's driving me bonkers!" Merrill tilted her head, fiddling over which card she wanted to discard.

"Is there something wrong? Anders is living at the estate now, isn't he?"

"Yes, and that's exactly the problem, kitten. They're living together and nothing's happened!"

"His constant whining probably finally got to her," Fenris smirked and Isabela elbowed him.

"Come on. We all saw them both. They were so _smitten_ it was almost painful. Now they both act like the other one doesn't even exist."

"It would do you some good to just mind your own business," Aveline jabbed. "If they like each other, it will just happen."

"Oh, yes. And in the meantime, we should get Hawke some copper marigolds to give him – see how that goes." Aveline frowned and cast a glare in Isabela's direction which she pointedly ignored.

"Perhaps they're just feeling shy, is all," Merrill offered and moved to set down a card. Isabela shook her head and the elf slowly retracted her choice, exchanging it with one that caused the pirate to smile approvingly at.

"You never know, they could be together this very moment," Varric said. "They've missed our game night a few times now."

"Oh, like meeting in secret? How romantic!" Merrill quipped.

Hawke's hand hovered over the door latch to the Hanged Man, fingers flexing as she tried to will herself to walk in. Giving a frustrated sigh, she let her hand fall back to her side. She just couldn't do it. She'd been making it a point to avoid Anders as much as possible for the past two weeks and wasn't sure she could take it if he was inside the tavern. Avoidance when you lived and traveled with someone was no easy feat, but somehow she'd accomplished it. It helped that he was at the clinic for the better part of the day and she could sneak into the house before he came home. She took her meals in her room and asked Bodahn to keep her informed of Anders' whereabouts. It was all very ridiculous and she felt like a trespasser in her own home and she'd become a bit of a hermit when she was there, but she just...couldn't face him again.

So, as fate had a habit of meddling in her life, she couldn't have said she was surprised when she turned to leave and came face to face with the center of her tortured whirlwind of unfulfilled affection.

At the sight of him, she faltered and stumbled backward, hand coming to her chest. She forced herself to look at him when the silence remained unbroken.

To be honest, he looked as shocked as she did, and equally unsure of what to say, if anything.

"Hanged Man?" he said, his voice seeming to hang in the cold evening air.

"Mmm," she made the familiar, vague noise in her throat, and then shook her head. Her feet moved seemingly of their own accord as she strode past him to head home, eyes tightly shut. Whether he was watching her go she didn't know, her vision blurred with tears as she began to run up the steps and through Hightown once she reached it. Confused, heartbroken, and lost, she did what she always had in such times, and uttered the spell that would help her escape. The smack of her boots on the stone soon disappeared as her paws took their place. She always felt faster this way, like the wind, like nothing, not even trouble itself, could catch her. She ran all the way home, scampering up the vines on the outside of the estate and crawling up onto the roof where no one would think to look for her.

Once she reached the edge of the roof on the other side of the building, she slowed and sat to catch her breath, tail curling about her feet and heart beating rapidly in her chest.

Taking a deep breath, she wondered how long she would stay here. Her friends would begin to worry if she didn't show up in a few days. The breeze ruffled her fur and whiskers and she tried to find some solace in the peaceful night air, tried to remember how carefree it felt to be a cat.

"Dah! Bugger-it-all!"

Hawke perked, ears forward and alert as she turned to look at where the noise came from. Scratches came from the stone and wood of the roof as she saw glimpses of...something at the edge. Rising to her feet, she stood, ready to bolt as the unknown thing flailed and pawed at her roof, grumbling the whole while. After another few seconds of this, it finally managed to pull its weight onto the roof and she blinked, whiskers twitching.

"Maker's breath..." The cat, slim and light with touches of ginger to its fur, lolled about and almost slid right back off the roof before coming to its feet. If cats could get drunk, Hawke supposed this is what it would have looked like. Once stable, it looked at her, and she couldn't believe an inch of it, from the eyes to the ruffled fur at the end of its tail.

"Anders!" she squeaked.

"What? Oh!" he blinked widely, cautiously stepping over towards her. "Right. Hawke. Sorry, I forgot when I thought I was going to die."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, plaintively. "And why...?"

"Am I a cat?" he finished, joining her at the other end of the roof and sitting. Hawke assumed a similar position, coiling her tail tightly about herself again. "I rather like cats, if you recall." Her eyes turned to him sadly, ears folding down. "Oh, please don't do that. I could never stand it when Ser Pounce a Lot gave me that look. As for the fur." He waved a paw. "It's...uh... Let's just say... I thought I thought it might help me talk to you..."

As he rambled on, Hawke marveled at how well she could understand him. Had she been trying to talk to a typical alley cat, it would have been like trying to talk to someone with an extremely thick accent. She couldn't understand most of them, but Anders 'cat' was apparently at the same level as hers. To anyone watching from the outside they would have appeared to be simply cooing to one another.

"It seemed to work for you, anyway," he trailed off, looked out over the view below, gave a visible sigh, and then added, "Nice view."

"Yeah," Hawke agreed. They said nothing for a time, thoughts racing on both ends, but none seemed able to turn into words.

"You know what's interesting?" Anders asked.

"Hm?"

"I can't hear Justice like this. I thought he was going to be scolding me the whole way here, but...nothing."

"Maybe he just doesn't speak cat," she offered with a slow blink and Anders looked at her, something between a chuckle and purr sounding from his chest.

"I guess that could be it. I can't imagine Justice meowing."

"Me either."

"When did you learn this?" he asked, catching her a little off guard. She felt herself become defensive, but did her best to subdue the feeling.

"Back in Lothering... I... I did this all the time."

"Handy for avoiding the templars, I'd bet."

"Yes, but I mostly did it just to get away." Anders' tail curled up at the end and then tapped at the roof.

"I... I don't want you to go away," he said and Hawke turned her head to look at him. "I wish you were around more often... I've... I've missed you these last few days."

"Mischief," Hawke huffed.

"No, _you_," he emphasized, rising to his feet and padding behind her. "Because it was you the whole time."

"I didn't mean to, Anders. I really-" He popped up again in front of her, long whiskers ticking her face as he passed by before he sat back down.

"I don't mind," he said. "I appreciate that you were there..." Hawke looked at him in disbelief and then glanced away, tail unfurling from around her to lightly sway against his. He looked at her at the feeling, and his eyes smiled warmly.

"I always wanted to be there for you," she admitted. "I'm just... It was difficult... I'm so stupid."

"None of that," he said, batting at her. "You're not the one who admitted to a cat that was really the girl you loved that you loved her." As much of a brain twist as that was, Hawke understood.

"Did you mean that...?" She watched Anders' ears fold back and forward, one then the other, nose twitching.

"Uh... Would you mind if we changed back for a moment?" She shook her head, and with a few words they both shot up in height, grasping the roof so they didn't lose their balance as their legs flew out to hang over the edge.

"I can't believe you knew how to do that," Hawke said as Anders' blinked away the vertigo.

"It wasn't easy," he said. "I had to study that book of yours every second I got...and even then, as I'm sure you could see my cracking display of, I'm not very graceful."

"It takes time," she said. "You'll get better."

"Yes, but that's for another time... Now, say it again." He scooted about so he could face her a little.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, confused.

"What you said...," he said, rolling his finger in the air. "Before...about meaning it."

"Oh, um," she felt her cheeks grow hot. That was the lovely thing about being a cat – you didn't blush, or at least, no one noticed. That and she didn't feel so damn vulnerable. "Di...Did you me...mean it?" She'd turned her eyes from him as she asked and once the words had fallen from her lips, she felt his fingertips gently brush the side of her jaw, turning her gaze back to his. _Oh, Maker_, she thought _when did he get such pretty eyes?_It was not his eyes that made her heart nearly stop, but the way he coaxed her lips tenderly up to his. She tried to take in everything at once, how warm his mouth was, how his breath felt against her lips, how earthy he smelled, like herbs and roots. Of everything, it was feeling his smile that made the small whimper escape her.

"Yes," he said in a hushed tone. "I meant it. I love you."

"OhIloveyoutoo," she rushed out in one quiet breath against his mouth, causing him to grin and give a small laugh.


	5. Knowing You

**Mature content ahead**

Hawke wasn't sure how long they remained on the roof. She thought nothing of the way the blue sky deepened as the sun sank over the horizon and night fell. All she was aware of was his kisses, so easily lost in them as she enveloped herself in everything he was. There was no stuttering, no hiccups, no talk of mages and templars, no words at all for a time. Even the rain went mostly unnoticed as the clouds swelled in and the drops began to fall. They would have ended up soaked if not for Anders acting as the voice of reason for them both.

"We should probably go inside," he said, his expression winsome as he continued to look at her.

"I suppose," she said, though she didn't mind one way or the other. Carefully rising to his feet, he offered a hand to her and headed for where he surmised the window to his room might be. Though neither wanted their hands to part, he gave a brief kiss to her fingers before letting go and beginning to edge down off the roof. Hawke knelt down by the edge to watch him.

"You don't seem so bad at climbing now," she noted. He laughed a little between grunts as he attempted to find footing.

"I learned quite a few things escaping the Circle. It definitely helps to have thumbs." Hawke hummed in amusement at the idea of him scaling the Circle tower and quietly admired how well he slipped down the wall and pulled himself into the open window. Once inside, he poked his head back out and waved to her. "Your turn, my dear lady." She nodded and readied herself best she could, not entirely confident in her climbing ability as a human. She and her siblings had enjoyed clambering up in the trees of Lothering as children, but beyond that she'd done little of it beyond the times she turned into a cat. She had taken note of the places Anders had set his boots and tried to follow suit. The rain made the stone slick, and her foot slipped once. Beneath her, Anders made a noise and she looked down.

"It's okay, I'm fine."

"Please be careful. I may be able to mend broken bones, but I would rather not have to witness what a fall would do to you."

As soon as one of her feet found the sill, she felt his hand grab hold of her calf, determined to get a grip on her as soon as possible. The hand skirted higher as she brought the other leg over and she felt a chill rise through her spine as he grasped her hips to pull her inside.

"Thank you," she said quietly, brushing some of the damp hair away from her eyes. Anders gently tugged her closer and wrapped his arms up around her form, a gesture she happily returned as she stood on her toes to meet him.

"I can't believe this," she heard him say lightly by her ear. "I keep thinking I must be dreaming and I'm just going to wake up back in the clinic at any moment."

"Don't you dare," she said. "I haven't had a good dream in a long time and this would be a terrible one to waste."

His lips curled into a wry smile then. "Ah, there's the wit I'm used to hearing. Never thought I'd get to hear it directed at me."

"Careful, I might realize what's going on and lose my tongue again."

"Oh, I'm sure I could help you find it." Hawke glanced up at him, eyes wide and skin flushed. Anders bit his tongue. "Hrm, too soon?"

"I... I don't know," she said, ducking her head again, but smiling all the while.

"Oh, dear. She's coming down with it again." Much to her surprise, he bent down and swooped her up in his arms, carrying her over to the bed and resting her down into its covers. "Right to bed with you. Doctor's orders." Pulling his arms from beneath her, he wandered back towards the window and peered at the storm that had quickly begun to brew outside. "Looks like we got in just in time. What a mess." He began to reach up to close the shutters when Hawke leaned up and stopped him.

"Leave them open. I like listening to the rain." He looked at her and then shrugged, heading for the other side of the bed and sitting down. A flash flickered into the room, followed by a low rumble sounding in the distance. Anders glanced over his shoulder at her as he was in the process of removing his wet boots, a playful expression crossing his lips then. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just thinking." As he kicked off the second boot, Hawke slowly crawled up behind him, hesitant for only a moment before she pressed up to his back, listening to that resounding heart beat. She still loved it. When he a gave a deep sigh, she felt his entire body rise and fall.

"Anders?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

"Hmm?" he rumbled against her.

"How long...? How long have you felt like this?"

"Forever and a day, I think," he said. "Ever since I realized you truly existed and weren't just more of my wishful thinking."

"You wished for me?" she teased a little and he turned to face her, leaning on one arm and taking her chin in his free hand.

"Every night, love." Hawke wasn't sure if it was how he looked at her, how he spoke, or simply the euphoria she was experiencing, but for once in a long time she reacted on impulse. Her arms went up around his neck and she kissed him almost feverishly. Given the sound that escaped him between breaths, he was taken by surprise, but that did nothing to stop him from holding her tightly against him and returning each kiss with the same heat. Her hands searched for anything and everything to hold on to, anything to get him closer. When her back pressed into the bed and he crawled over her, she realized he'd somehow managed to shuck his outer robes off somewhere. She could feel the lean muscle beneath the thin fabric of his tunic on his back and delighted in how he leaned into her touch. In some ways, he quite cat-like himself.

When he moved his attention to her neck she felt like she might faint, head spinning in a dizzying whirl. Her fingers brushed through his hair to the back of his neck and she bit at her lip.

"A...Anders...?"

"Yes, love?" he asked, raising his head to look at her, concerned at her strained tone. Maker, she couldn't get enough of him calling her that.

"I...I need to tell you..." The mage froze above her and he stared at her intensely. Oh, the thoughts that must have just popped into his head. She worked quickly to dismiss them. "Oh, no... Not that...I'm not... I mean.. I've done...before... Just..." He seemed a little relieved, but continued to patiently wait for the rest of whatever she had to say. "It's probably obvious I'm not very...good...with people...I like.. I never... I don't know if I'm very good."

"Oh, is that all?"

"Well, yes. I mean... I just get so flustered that I can't seem to _do_ anything..." Anders stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"Hm. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I suppose. I didn't hate it, I mean... Just... always kind of felt like I should have done more." Anders seemed thoughtful a moment and then brought his hands down to her waistline, rolling them about until she was sitting on top of him. When she looked down at him with an unsure expression he just smiled and rubbed at her hips with the pads of his thumbs.

"Listen... We don't have to do anything... but...if we do... It will be your choice."

"But...," she began, thinking he hadn't gotten any of what she just said. If it was left up to her they would get absolutely nowhere.

"Think of Mischief, love... She's a cat. She acts on instinct, does whatever feels right. She doesn't worry about what anyone thinks." Hawke tilted her head a little and considered this, finding it was true. When she traipsed about in the form of the tiny cat, she naturally acted like one. She did not bother with trivial things like embarrassment, she simply acted. _Follow your instincts, Hawke_, she told herself. So she found herself leaning over him, searching out those kisses she'd yearned for for so long, only wanting more of them as the seconds passed. Anders gave them gladly, letting his fingers drift lazily over her sides and perfectly content to take this as slow as she needed. As far as he was concerned, they had all the time in the world. He wanted her to feel in control, to explore that side of her he'd seen in Mischief, so vibrant and free with her affections.

Her hands pressed into the pillows by his head, body slowly settling up against his. She parted from his lips again to steal a breath, but paused and looked down at him instead of immediately returning for more. The absence of her mouth caused Anders to dreamily open his eyes.

"Anders...?" He thrilled giddily in his head at how she said his name, intimate and light on her tongue, barely a whisper at the end.

"Yes, love?" he asked.

"Did you... Did you think of me often...?"

"Of course," he replied without missing a beat. Her eyes, half lidded, darted about before returning to his.

"I mean... like this...?" He couldn't be sure if she'd done it on purpose, but whether or not it was intentional, her hips ground down just a little against his, emphasizing her question.

"Oh," he said, feeling his nether regions beginning to ache even worse than before. "Yes..."

"What did you think of?" The heat rising below suddenly shot up through his body and he began to feel his face burn relentlessly. In that instance he suspected he was getting some insight into just what she'd been going through all this time. He could flirt, yes, and he could insinuate and innuendo like the best of them on good days. When this door had opened up for them, when those words had finally been said and reciprocated, he felt he was ready to share anything and everything with her. But his _fantasies_? Those steamy and perfectly naughty thoughts that he entertained late at night while he was alone in the clinic? Never had he supposed she might _ask _about them.

No doubt the Maker must have been playing a cruel trick on him, for while Hawke looked down at him, eyes heated and expectant...Anders became decidedly embarrassed.

"Well...," he drew out. "I...I never really understood why you would never talk to me...and.. I used to imagine that..." He cleared his throat deeply.

"That...?" The fingertips on one of her hands began to rub at the ridge of his ear.

"That...it was because... You were so attracted to me that if you stayed too long...you'd...Well..."

It was strange how he began to see the likeness between Hawke and Mischief then, the way her eyes glinted in that slightly predatory manner, or the way her lips curled at the corners with amusement. When she bent down and touched her nose to his jaw and let out a breath against his skin, he felt very much like the unsuspecting prey she'd just caught and was preparing to play with. It wasn't as though he didn't like the idea, of course, but he hadn't quite expected things to take such a turn.

"I...thought of it...," she said. "Thought if I could just tell you..."

"If you had... I don't know if I could have contained myself..."

"Why?" she breathed, finding his lips again, one hand working its way down and carefully edging beneath his tunic, resting at his hip for a moment before daring to move higher. Anders made a pitiful noise against her lips.

"Because I wanted you... _want_ you. I wished so long to just speak with you...to have you close... I don't think I could comprehend anything beyond that..."

"I did not think I could, either. Yet, here we are...together...like this...and all I know for certain is that I want more... Want you..."

"Maker, Hawke," Anders groaned, leaning up to grasp the back of her neck and pull her into a deep, desperate kiss. He felt her hands frantically drawing his tunic higher and it was over his head in seconds, discarded somewhere unseen. Then those wonderfully delicate hands that he'd seen weave complex spells many a time were on him, palms hot on his flesh. Anders held on to her hip, keeping them flush with his own as he scooted to sit with her in his lap. His hands lifted to her face and neck, edging along her slender shoulders as he started to coax her robes down off them.

The thunder roared outside, muffling most of the sounds in the room as Hawke hastily stripped away her underclothes once the robes were out of the way. She could not believe the urgency coursing through her body, a deep need that had been ignored for much too long. She would not, could not, lie back and do nothing now. She had to touch him, to taste him, feel every inch of him against her or else she feared she may go mad.

As they fought to get his trousers off without changing position, eliciting a few laughs amidst the panting, Hawke felt a sensation she hadn't been expecting. She jumped a little with a surprised noise and Anders gently rubbed at the spot on her rear end where the tiny bit of lightning magic had escaped his fingertips.

"Sorry," he said, looking sheepish. "I got excited." She looked to him a playful, accusing expression.

"It didn't hurt... Just wasn't ready for it, especially on such a tender spot," she said.

"Truly," he said and she felt his fingertips suddenly lose their heat in the same place, causing her to rear up into him.

"Blast you, stop it!" she whined, burying her face against his neck.

"Alright," he hummed, lying through his teeth as he trailed the freezing sensation up her spine, causing her to shiver. She smacked his chest with her fist once as she sat back and he laughed, bringing his hands forward and coaxing her to splay out her own against them. "There's...one other thing I've thought of..." Hawke tilted her head in question, but quickly discovered what he meant as she felt the crackle of electricity tingle over his fingers onto hers. She watched their hands as she called forth her own, just a little, light dancing between their hands in the dark, occasionally accompanied by the more dramatic flashes through the window.

"This is...amazing," she sighed as the magic tickled through her. "You thought of doing this, too?"

"When I heal people... I can feel everything...their sickness...their pain...," he said. "It's how I find the source of their discomforts and nullify them. When I thought of you...I wondered what it might be like to feel what you feel... Really know you..."

"Can you feel what I feel, now, Anders?" she asked, lacing her fingers with his now and feeling the magic pulse between their hands. He waited and studied her eyes before smiling just lightly.

"I'm not sure if I am...or if I'm only sensing what I feel...very strongly."

"I think we are feeling the same thing, then," she said, pressing her forehead to his before kissing him a few times, just a gentle, soft, brushing of her mouth against his. She took in the serene vibrations that emanated through his hands down into her core. He wanted her dearly, and it made her heart swell to not only know, but to feel it inside. The lightning dancing through the night sky seemed to resonate with them, thunder roaring like the pleasure rushing through their bodies when they finally connected. She slid down onto him easily, only interrupted as her body became used to the fullness of him inside. Her hips rolled against his, slowly as she moaned at the feeling of him, he grasping at her hair with one hand, her hip with the other. Hawke enjoyed being atop him like this, watching the desire cloud his eyes just by the simple movements she was making, but she did not complain when he eventually rolled her back and moved over her. His arms were slick with sweat and comforting around her as he pressed in and out of her, savoring her flesh around him. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he couldn't keep the control for long, though.

"Anders... Don't resist... I don't want you to resist...," she panted and he moaned again, bringing his mouth hungrily to her shoulder and neck. She felt his fingers crackle again as he slid them between them, down her front, along her stomach, and into the wet heat between her legs. She cried out as the pulsing feeling met with the tender bundle of nerves, causing her to arch up into him. He rolled his fingers against her and sighed deep against her ear.

"I don't want you to, either...," he said, voice thick and rough. "Let me feel it, love..."

If the magic alone wasn't enough, his voice pushed her clear over the edge and she could feel herself clench against him as she rode out her climax. And, oh, Maker, was it the most beautiful thing she'd ever felt. He gave one or two more stiff thrusts into her as she strained beneath him, crying out against her collarbone as his forehead rested on her shoulder and he came.

They lay for a time, regaining themselves and Anders finally found the strength to move off her, though he took her in his arms in the process.

"A...Anders," Hawke panted, wiping her brow with a hand.

"Y...Yes?"

"I'm glad you found out."

He laughed through his attempt find his breath again.

"Me too. I always knew cats were helpful creatures...even if they were really mages all along, which reminds me..." Hawke lifted her head from his chest a little as he reached over to the side table and brought something into her view – the handkerchief. "I believe this is yours, now."

She reached up and took the soft fabric into her hand, holding it to her chest as her hand tucked up between him and herself.

"I wish I had something to give you as well."

"Well, you inadvertently taught me how to be a cat. I'd say that's something."

"You were a cute cat," she smiled. "A little scruffy and clumsy...but cute."

"Hey," he said, turning to face her now and brushing his hand through her hair. "I think I did pretty good for two weeks."

"You did," she agreed. "You just need to get used to the body."

"Give me some time, sweetheart. I'm just now getting used to _your_ body... Which, may I add, is absolutely gorgeous." Hawke blushed, but did not hide her face this time.

"I'll make sure you have plenty time to learn both, then," she said coyly and he raised a brow.

"My, my, I do like where this is going. I have to warn you, though, I am terrible at studying – very poor attention span."

"And yet you learned this spell in so short a time?"

"I had a very good reason." She moved up to lean over him, touching the tip of her nose to his which made him grin.

"I'll have to make sure you _always _have a good reason, then, won't I?" He laughed now and kissed her ticklishly a few times on her face, nose and neck, making her squirm with delighted giggles.

"I knew there was a reason I named you Mischief."

**_FIN_**


End file.
